


Kindly Imposed Oranges

by Flammenkobold



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Accidental Proposal, Cooking, Developing Friendships, Domestic, Fluff, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Living Together, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Oranges, Phantom Limb Pain, Pining, References to Depression, Slow Burn, So many oranges, mentions of off-screen loss of limbs, they are plot relevant I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/pseuds/Flammenkobold
Summary: Years after the LOLOMG parted ways, Zolf Smith finds himself back in Cairo meeting his old friends and somehow ends up living together with Oscar Wilde (and technically working for him again). Maybe this time Zolf can build a life for himself, settle down, make new friends along the way and rekindle old feelings that never went fully away.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde, background Azu/Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan
Comments: 17
Kudos: 108
Collections: Rusty Quill Big Bang 2020





	Kindly Imposed Oranges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [areyouokaypanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouokaypanda/gifts).



It had been years since he last saw any of them - mission finished and ways parted. Zolf had gone back to Japan with Cel at first, unsure what to do with himself and eventually had returned home to England, laying old grievances to rest. When that was done he finally found himself in France, working on a vineyard for an elderly lady. He helped out in the nearby town as a cleric and tried his hand at writing - not very successfully, but enjoyable regardless. For a while it was a nice change of pace from the previous years.

Just when he found himself restless again, Hamid's letter found him. It contained an invitation to visit him and Azu and their newborn daughter in Cairo. Zolf read it a couple of times just to be sure he had read correctly and wondered what else he had missed in the past few years, if those two were married and had a daughter now. Wondered what Cel was doing and Jasper and the kobolds, where Barnes and Carter had ended up. What Wilde was up to.

He replied to Hamid’s letter, let him know that he would be happy to visit and left out that it was mostly to get a change of scenery. Despite their friendship they had often clashed one way or the other, and Zolf was apprehensive it would still be the same in more peaceful times. He looked forward to it all the same, and looked forward to seeing Azu as well.

Then he wrote a letter to Wilde, the first one in years, and let him know that he was coming to Cairo for a few weeks and, if he was around, that they could meet up as well. 

By the time Hamid let him know that they had arranged for his travels and Zolf left, there hadn't been any reply from Wilde yet. Hamid had booked him a flight on an airship from Nantes, luckily no Earhart in sight this time, and Zolf was glad to avoid both her and the ocean.

Upon arrival, Hamid and Azu greeted him, clearly happy to see him. There was an awkward moment to figure out if hugging was something they were all fine with that resolved itself in the end with a yes and with Azu nearly crushing him.

Their daughter was as adorable as any newborn. Which in Zolfs opinion meant really ugly and awkward and far too small and breakable, but he did not let them know that. 

The Tahan estate was busy, between Azu and Hamid and their daughter and Saira and Saleh Jr. with his family. Far too busy for Zolf, but he wasn't about to turn down their hospitality right away. The second day he fled the chaos early and wandered the city instead. It was not less chaotic, but there was a certain charm to getting lost in it. After the infection and the kraken induced weather, Cairo had again turned into an international trading hub and government seat, and had grown rapidly. It showed everywhere in the city, especially in the architecture. Traditional houses that had survived the sandstorms were now crammed in between houses of all styles, some more modern varieties, some with European influence, some with elements from the Americas, even some with Japanese influences. 

Eventually Zolf found himself in a quieter part of town, away from the rest of the lively city and the chaotic Tahan estate, still feeling a faint headache from the loud morning. Hamid’s daughter had a very loud voice and woke up early and Saleh’s twins had chattered at him incessantly, nearly yelling over each other, to try and get to know their uncle’s friend. Apparently knowing their favourite uncle and aunt made him very popular.

"Zolf?" A familiar voice called out and he nearly felt annoyed for not getting a minute to himself, but when he turned and saw Wilde standing a bit further away, a bag full of fruit at his side, Zolf felt something quiet in his heart.

"Wilde!" he said and found himself smiling. Wilde looked, for lack of better word, good. He had a faint tan, his shoulders seemed less tense then when Zolf had last seen him, and his clothes - while still practical - held a bit more colour and accessories. There was visible grey in his hair now, and it had grown out a bit. He’d aged, and he’d aged well at that. "What are you doing here?"

The good side of Wilde's face turned up into a smile. He gestured vaguely. "Living here. What about you?"

"Going for a walk, it's been a bit busy at Hamid's,” he said and walked back towards Wilde.

"Ah yes, it tends to be like that. Forgive me for not writing back, but things have been busy on my end as well."

"Reckoned as much."

They stood there for a moment that could've been awkward and yet wasn't, until Wilde spoke up in that soft voice he sometimes got around Zolf.

"It's good to see you."

Zolf felt an old feeling grip his heart, like it had sometimes in Japan, but unlike then he could pinpoint it now for what it was. Gods, he'd thought himself over it, it had been years since they had last seen or talked to each other. Yet here he was, feeling his heart skip a beat in his chest, throat tight. But he smiled again.

"Yes, err, good to see you too."

And now things were a bit awkward, but Wilde cleared his throat. "Could I offer you some tea?"

"I'm not really thirsty -" Zolf mentally kicked himself on his metal shin. Wilde was trying to be polite, he should at least make a small effort. "- but yes, sure."

Wilde leaned down to pick up the bag he had put down, but Zolf had reached for it already. "Let me," he offered, and felt a jolt course through him as Wilde's hand briefly grazed his skin before withdrawing.

"Thank you."

Zolf followed Wilde to a new plain building next to one of the older looking houses, while Wilde talked idly. "My neighbour has an orange tree and the habit of accosting me everytime he sees me."

Zolf hummed.

"He thinks I'm not eating healthy enough, and has put it upon himself to supply me with fruit everytime I come home from a longer journey,” he explained. “According to him his late wife would've wanted him to take forward the kindness she had given him when planting the tree."

Zolf huffed out a laugh. Both at the story, and at the fact that Wilde had already spoken more than in the past few months Japan and Svalbard combined.

"Kind of him."

"Very, if one could eat that many oranges."

"Seems a bit of a waste then."

"I usually have someone from Azu's hospital pick them up," Wilde said as he unlocked the door to his home.

He held up his hand before Zolf could enter. His hand wove a pattern in the air, and he hummed a soft tone. Zolf saw the shimmer of a spell dispersing in the air, before Wilde bid him to enter with a flourish.

It was startling to see him use his magic so freely again, and a relief too. The house was kept simple, practical, yet Zolf saw a few signs of Wilde’s personality in there in a way he hadn't in the inn: a few artful paintings and sculptures, old leather seats in a room they passed, bookshelves lining the walls. Wilde led him into the kitchen, which looked far too plain and unused in Zolf’s opinion.

He put the bag of oranges on the empty table in the middle of the room, while Wilde rummaged through one of the cupboards.

"It's good you don't want any tea as I seem to have run out."

"No housekeeper to keep stock?" Zolf asked jokingly, half expecting there to be one, because the gods knew Wilde was horrible at it and generally had too little time anyway. And he couldn't just live off on oranges alone.

"Don't have one. Anymore," Wilde said and eyed the oranges. "Can I offer you a freshly pressed orange juice?"

Zolf looked at the oranges, which did look good and ripe, and he found himself nodding at Wilde.

The kitchen, bare as it was, did have a fruit press at least, and Zolf half suspected it only existed because of the kindly imposed oranges.

Wilde seemed to know how to handle it on his own as well.

"So what happened with the housekeeper," He pushed himself to ask for the sake of making smalltalk, even if he didn't feel like he had the right to ask. It seemed like a thing to do, and one he tried to be better at.

Wilde prepared a glass for each of them, and without looking over to Zolf said, "Turned out to be an assassin."

"Godsdamn, Wilde," Zolf breathed out, this definitely not being an answer he had expected. Knowing Wilde he perhaps should have, though. 

Wilde waved him off. "No major harm done, I took care of it." He gave a Zolf a pointed look, "I can take care of myself, you know."

Zolf sighed, "Assassin, really." 

Something heavy settled in his gut and anger coursed through him. After everything, Wilde deserved better than that. Another feeling mixed in with the anger, and it was akin to dread with the realization that if things had gone differently he wouldn't have seen Wilde again. All these years, and the last time he'd seen Wilde was when they had parted ways after Svalbard.

The thought didn't sit well with him at all.

"That said," Wilde pulled him from his thoughts, "how have you been?"

Zolf shrugged. "Well. Been here and there." 

He told Wilde a bit about the vineyard, about the old lady he was working for, encouraged when Wilde bid him to continue. To his surprise and mild embarrassment, Zolf found that he had developed opinions on wine and wine making. He also found that it was far easier to talk with Wilde about these things than with Hamid and Azu. Wilde didn't pry, didn't make an effort or tried to act interested for friendship's sake. He just let Zolf talk about it, without forcing him into a conversation or discussion. And so it was easy to talk, here, hands around the warming orange juice, uninterrupted by children and other people. Wilde had a fond look on his face, almost a smile, as he watched Zolf.

Embarrassment finally crept into him and Zolf averted his eyes. "Well, yeah, now you know, not many exciting things."

"It sounds exciting to me," Wilde said.

Zolf snorted. "I'm sure you had more exciting things happening here." From what he knew, Wilde had been involved in building a functioning government from the shadows, and between that and the assassin there probably were far more exciting stories to tell than pressing wine.

"I would not consider them exciting so much as bloody and infuriatingly annoying."

"Really?"

"You would not believe how stupid politicians can be."

"Haven't met many but I can believe it."

"Zolf, they are so incredibly, collossally stupid. With some of them, I even wonder why Curie wants to keep them alive."

Zolf crossed his arms and felt fondness chase away his earlier embarrassment, as he let Wilde rant.

He had come to be more expressive than Zolf had known him, more open with his gestures, less wielding them like a scalpel or a hammer. It was a good look, and Zolf found himself distracted by Wilde’s hands. Still long and elegant, but less spindly than in Japan, less manicured than in London. They too had aged, and in the process their gestures had become more sure.

He looked a lot more relaxed and at ease than Zolf could remember. Settled. 

Everyone around him seemed to have built a life of their own, found a place to grow roots in. Except him. He still felt adrift, the vineyard feeling more and more like another stop in his uprooted life, rather than a place to stay for good. It was not a pleasant realization, and something of it must’ve shown on his face because Wilde had gone silent.

“I probably should be going,” Zolf said into the silence. “It’s getting late, Hamid might get worried and you know how he is when he does.”

“Of course.” Wilde nodded slowly. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

Zolf waved him off and stood up. “No need, I know the way. You, uh, must be tired from your journey.”

“I - yes.” There seemed to be more Wilde wanted to say, but he didn’t. He nearly looked upset.

Zolf didn’t know what to make of it, and even less how to respond, so he put his empty glass on the counter and bid Wilde goodbye.

Wilde didn’t stop him, but he did call after Zolf at the door. “Please give Hamid and Azu my regards.”

\----

Mornings in the Tahan household seemed to always be an ordeal of one kind or the other, and one Zolf had started to find exhausting after only a couple of days. He hadn’t been good at being surrounded by many people before, his time on various sailing vessels aside, and he wasn’t especially good at it now. 

As welcoming as Hamid’s family was, Zolf was of half a mind to just toss most of them out of a window. There wasn’t a minute of respite, unless Zolf managed to walk out into the city before they got hold of him for breakfast. The city was bustling too, but at least there he didn’t have to engage with anyone unless he wanted to, and there were enough side streets and small cafés and rundown bars to hide in and just sit in a corner with a book.

That morning he didn't have that much luck.

Saleh’s twins, whom he still couldn’t keep apart, assaulted him in front of his bedroom, two overly energetic and loud halfling’s attaching themselves to him, asking questions he was sure they would lose interest the moment he started answering them.

A haggard looking Saleh with a tea in one hand tried to shoo them off, but they weren’t dissuaded until they could attach themselves to Azu instead, which they did the second she came into the corridor. 

Saleh gave them both the look of a man already doomed to his fate and far too used to his kids’ shenanigans to properly bother to be apologetic.

“Hi Azu,” he greeted her once the others were gone.

“Good morning, Zolf,” she greeted him, smile already on her face. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, then took a brief look at her inquiring face and sighed. “Everything’s perfectly fine.”

“I wanted to ask if you want to come to the hospital with me today?” She sounded almost nervous. He knew it was her personal pride. She had built it with the money they had made during their adventures and had let Saira invest in it so that she could pay bills and salaries from the interest, leaving the hospital self-sufficient and independent. It was a small place, further out of the main city, where it was harder for people to get to the temples and the big hospital in the city center. 

“Azu …”

“Please Zolf, we’re still a team, right?”

He snorted at her blunt attempt at manipulation, but it did work. “Fine.”

She gave him a big smile.

“Thank you, and I’ll promise we’ll be back by lunch, Wilde is coming over.”

“Right,” he said carefully, feeling a bit stumped by that. Neither Hamid or Azu had told him that the day before.

“Hamid and I thought it might be nice.”

“Yeah, no, of course.”

Their conversation petered out awkwardly after that, at least on Zolf’s side. Azu kept up the talking until they reached the breakfast room.

It was a bit easier at the hospital, Zolf followed her around, listened to her explain everything excitedly to him, even as she repeated herself from earlier conversations. She introduced him to some of the people working there. Zolf felt a bit awkward as he couldn’t understand most of them, but they all seemed friendly and said hello as Azu explained to him who they were. There were few clerics in the hospital, most of them younger and still learning, and several nurses from the area, most of them also younger or still in training. There were only a few with any experience. 

One of them, an imposing looking woman with grey in her hair and deep lines around her eyes that could either be from sorrow or laughter, talked French fluently and told him that her mother had come from France and that she herself had spent a good deal of her childhood near Marseilles. She asked him about the area he was living in now and shared stories about where she had grown up. 

“A pleasure to have met you, Zolf,” she said when they were about to make their way back, and leaned down to give him a quick kiss on each cheek.

“Same, Madame Karima,” he stuttered out, momentarily taken aback by her french-ness. She laughed, a deep, kind belly laugh. 

“Karima would be fine, but I do appreciate the courtesy.”

“I - err - yes,” Zolf said and was glad when Azu yelled for him from across the corridor.

“I see you made friends with Karima already,” she said when they walked outside and Zolf eyed her suspiciously at the tone of her voice. 

“She seems nice.”

“You know she is married,” Azu said conversationally and Zolf spluttered.

“It’s not - I -,” he huffed out a breath in frustration. She was nice and he supposed she was pretty, but it wasn’t like that and Zolf wasn’t interested, not that fast, not based on a pretty face or a pretty bum alone. 

“How did you get Wilde to leave work early,” he quickly tried to change the topic. Instead he felt as if he had walked into another trap as Azu gave him a knowing look, but she didn’t comment. 

Zolf was thankful for the ride back, the carriage blessedly quiet as Azu was riding on Topaz next to it. The brief respite was welcome, especially when they came back to the Tahan estate already bustling like a beehive.

Wilde had beat them by a bit, and it became apparent that Saleh’s twins had taken as much a shine to him as they had to Zolf - and that Wilde wasn’t any better equipped to deal with them than he was.

He was looking aghast at the two small halflings clinging to his legs.

“Oi, Wilde,” Zolf called out - and regretted that decision immediately as two pairs of tiny eyes zeroed in on him.

“Zolf!” The twins exclaimed and detached themselves from Wilde only to attach themselves to him instead. Zolf stood very still, as they chattered up at him in French.

“Where have you been?”

“Did Auntie Azu take you to the hospital?”

“Was it nice?”

“I bet it was horrible.”

“Why would it be?”

“Cause hospitals aren’t nice.”

“But they help people there.”

Zolf looked up again at Wilde, as he was clearly not required to be part of that conversation.

“Thank you,” Wilde mouthed, amused glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zolf replied. _Bastard_.

“Lunch is ready!” Saleh yelled from across the corridor, and the twins were immediately off. Zolf sighed in relief.

“Shall we go in, too?” Wilde asked, not making any move to go towards the dining room.

“Probably should.” Zolf didn’t move either.

Wilde eyed the open door suspiciously, “I do know a nice restaurant not far from here.”

Zolf also eyed the door, half expecting the twins to bolt out again. “Sounds nice.”

Azu poked her head out of the door instead of the twins. “Are you coming?”

Zolf shared a look with Wilde that communicated shared suffering.

“After you,” Wilde gestured. Zolf huffed out an annoyed breath.

Lunch was not nearly as chaotic as it could have been, which was at least a small relief, and Zolf could sink back into his chair while Wilde diverted attention to himself, perfectly charming when he wanted to be.

Afterwards they went to sit somewhere quiet in the gardens of the Tahan estate. The twins were keeping everyone else busy after Wilde had leaned down to one of them and whispered something.

“What did you do?” Zolf asked suspiciously when they made their way down a winded path to a small secluded bench, coffee in hand.

“Suggested a game,” Wilde said and when Zolf still eyed him suspiciously added, “and promised them chocolate from Zurich.”

“You can’t just bribe them with chocolate.”

“Why not? It works.”

Zolf groaned, but didn’t go further into it.

They talked for a little while after. It felt nice, comfortable, and Zolf found himself complaining about staying at the house. Nice as it was of everyone, he just felt more out of place than ever and he couldn’t quite deal with all the chaos around, not even going into the other annoyances too deeply.

“You could always stay at my place, it should be a lot quieter than here,” Wilde offered but Zolf waved him off.

“It’s fine, I can deal for two more weeks,” he said. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to take that kind of charity, if he’d earned it in a way. Free things always came at a cost, sooner or later, even if he trusted Wilde enough to not expect anything in return. 

“If you’re sure.”

“Yes, Wilde. I’m sure,” Zolf said pointedly. Wilde hummed and sipped at his coffee.

That night Zolf was kept awake first by a screaming newborn with very well developed lungs. Then a loud crash and cursing outside his room by what sounded like servants trying to be sneaky jostled him up, just as he had fallen asleep. He then was woken up by two over-enthusiastic kids jumping on his bed, giggling, followed by a distraught Saleh ushering them out of his room. Finally, he tiredly spilled coffee on himself. 

Zolf sighed, packed his bag, and made his way over to Wilde’s house.

“You’d better have a spare room with a comfortable bed,” he grumbled as he pushed past Wilde, ignoring the barely concealed smirk on his lips and the amused look in his eyes.

\----

Wilde’s place did have a large spare room with a comfortable bed, and it was far more quiet than the Tahan estate, even if the street outside was more busy. It was a nice change though, because here at least Zolf could opt out of all the chaos. He still spent most of his days at Hamid’s place while Wilde was at work and Azu had taken him to her new hospital a few more times. 

Zolf helped to heal minor wounds and otherwise found a quiet corner to read, either rereading some of the old Harrison Campbell novels or something he had picked from Wilde’s library. He was only occasionally disturbed by Madame Karima for a small chat. 

When he was back at Wilde’s he often found himself outside in the small garden in the back of the house, sitting in the shade, reading there as well. More and more he also found himself tending to the garden a bit each evening, when Wilde hadn’t returned home yet and he had finished his book for the day.

The garden was separated from the neighbours by walls that had seen better days, and on one side it had almost come down entirely. It seemed like someone had deliberately pulled parts of it down even more, rather than fixing it, and Zolf could see a few orange trees and other assorted fruit trees growing in the garden beyond. 

This was how he met Wilde’s neighbour.

He’d just removed some of the weed strangling a surprisingly resilient bush growing in the shade of the wall, when he heard someone call out for him.

Zolf looked up and found himself face to face with a small human man, barely taller than him, face withered and lined with laugh lines. He was talking at Zolf, who didn’t understand a single word.

“Uh, sorry, I don’t - I don’t speak Arabic,” he said, and cursed himself for not at least learning that much.

The man looked at him, eyes carrying a smile even if his lips were barely turned upwards, then said something else that Zolf at least recognised as a greeting.

“Salaam?” Zolf tried, remembering as much from the days at the hospital.

The man laughed, then said something else that was lost on Zolf again, but he seemed pleased at the response. 

Zolf wiped off his hand on his shirt and held it out awkwardly, “Zolf Smith.” The man took his hand and introduced himself.

“Ameen Fadl Karim.”

“Nice to meet you,” Zolf said in English, and Ameen seemed amused by it. Zolf still felt awkward, but Ameen seemed friendly, so just going inside felt rude. While he had never in his life minded appearing rude, he had tried to do a bit better on that front in the past few years - if it was someone who didn’t annoy him. Besides, this was the neighbour that Wilde seemed very fond of, and Zolf didn’t have it in him to treat him rudely. 

In an attempt at something resembling a vague conversation, Zolf pointed at the orange trees and gave him a thumbs up. Ameen blinked at him for a moment, before he caught on the meaning and smiled.

A familiar voice called out behind him, sounding amused as well. Wilde quickly talked in Arabic to Ameen, who barked out a laugh. 

“He says he is glad you like the oranges.” Then, in what was clearly not a translation, added, “and I’m glad you get along, but I fear this will likely mean more oranges for me.”

“Just give them to Azu, people love them at the hospital,” Zolf brushed him off and Wilde turned to Ameen with an exaggerated sigh and translated what they had said back to Ameen. 

The old man nodded along, clearly still amused by it all, then hobbled over to one of the trees, plucked off an orange and handed it to Zolf.

“Thanks.” 

“He says you’re welcome, and that it’s nice meeting you.”

“It’s nice meeting him too.”

Wilde interpreted again for them, then turned to Zolf again.

“Shall we go for dinner? I’m starving and I’m afraid the oranges won’t do.”

“I think Hamid reserved a restaurant already.”

“Wonderful.”

\----

Zolf squinted at the ingredients he had found in the cupboards and the eggs he had managed to buy. He wished he had an actual recipe with him, but memory would have to do, as well as some improvising. Baking had never been his strongest suit, but he had made do in Japan and gotten quite good at making a decent bread.

A simple cake should be doable and it would get rid of some of the oranges.

Wilde’s kitchen looked to be clean and in good shape, if very unused. And it was well stocked with any kind of equipment needed, once Zolf had gotten through all the cupboards and taken inventory.

While the cake was baking, Zolf started to reorganize. Knives should be kept together in his opinion, and it didn’t hurt to have all the pots and pans in one place instead of spread out over the entire kitchen. He’d let Wilde know later in the day once they met up at Hamid’s.

The whole design of the house and the kitchen was more European leaning than Hamid’s place, like it had been designed with someone from there in mind. The foundations of the house seemed older, with a newer build stacked on top of it. Zolf wouldn’t be surprised if it had actually been built for Wilde specifically. He probably was still important enough to warrant the effort. 

Once the cake was finished he cut it up into small pieces, collecting a few on a plate and covering it up with a clean towel. Ameen wasn’t in the garden this time, so Zolf put it on the wall, hoping he’d find it in time. He prepared another plate to give to Azu for the hospital, added a few more slices for Saleh’s kids, then put a few slices away for Wilde.

By the time he got to Hamid’s house, it was as chaotic as usual. He weaved his way through a bunch of hurried servants, got tackle hugged by one of Saleh’s children, and finally made it to the kitchen to drop off the cake. 

It was when Hamid found him.

“Zolf!” 

Hamid looked a little frazzled, but he was smiling.

“Sorry about all that, Amani wouldn’t sleep all night and this morning Mother came for a surprise visit and Azu’s been at the hospital all night there was an emergency-”

“Hamid.”

Hamid blinked at him for a moment. 

“Calm down.”

Hamid did. “Thanks, Zolf.”

“I - err - brought cake, for Azu and the kids.”

“That is so lovely of you, thank you. I apologize again for all the chaos - I -”

“It’s fine, Hamid,” he reassured him. “I can come back later for dinner.”

“No, no it’s fine! You shouldn’t - you shouldn’t have to and the kids will be happy - and -” There was a loud wail coming from further inside the house and Hamid nearly jumped. “I -”

“Go,” Zolf said fondly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Right, yes, see you in a bit,” Hamid said and dashed off. He then came to a stop in the middle of the corridor, turned around and ran back. “Oh before I forget, there was a letter for you this morning.”

Hamid patted down his suit, which for once didn’t look pristine at all, before fishing a letter out of his pocket.

Zolf turned it over in his hand as Hamid made his way back to his daughter. It was from France, and Zolf recognized the name as his current employer’s daughter. 

Warily, he opened it, and sighed tiredly as he read it. 

He made his way out of the Tahan estate, back to Wilde’s house, not sure where else to go and definitely not in the mood for the chaos that was Hamid’s.

\----

There was a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” Zolf grit out and placed down his book reluctantly.

Wilde didn’t say anything as he came into the room, just raised an elegant eyebrow at Zolf. Hamid had probably already told him about Zolf’s earlier disappearance and the letter, when Zolf hadn’t reappeared for dinner as promised.

Zolf waved into the direction of the letter that he had tossed onto the night stand. Wilde lifted it up and read it, while Zolf settled on staring out of the window.

“I see,” Wilde finally said, voice carefully neutral.

“Yeah,” Zolf simply said.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

“I’ve got some funds left.” He had given away most of the money he had made from his time adventuring to people who needed it more than him, but Hamid had insisted on making him an emergency account with some savings. Azu had bullied him into accepting it.

“That is not what I asked.”

“Well, yes,” Zolf snapped at him. “What do you think? That I bought some quaint little house in the countryside, have some hidden away family that would take me in?”

“Zolf -”

“Sorry,” he grit out, mild irritation over his own response mingling into the overall irritation of having lost both a job and a place to live.

Delphine had been old, but she’d always seemed too crotchety and too alive to just suddenly die, without much fanfare. But she’d done just that in the time Zolf had been away, and now all her possessions had gone to her only daughter. And she had decided that radical changes were to be made, and that the vineyard needed selling, which meant that one dwarven ex-mercenary had to go. At least she’d offered to ship his possessions to wherever he liked.

Not that there was much left in France. Most of Zolf’s wardrobe still fitted into one trunk, as did his favourite books, and his glaive fitted into his hand. He’d left a few first editions and signed copies of Harrison Campbell’s book there, too valuable to take them on a longer journey, which he now regretted. That and his favourite cast iron skillet.

“You know you can always stay -”

“If you say Hamid’s I will throw you out of this room bum first.”

“Promises,” Wilde said, a faint smile on his face, reminiscent of times long ago. “But no, I was going to say you could always stay here.”

“Wilde,” he sighed. “Look, as grateful as I am that you’d let me stay here, I don’t want your charity.”

“To be frank, it wouldn’t be entirely charity.”

Zolf huffed out a breath and looked skeptically at Wilde.

“The way I see it you’re short both an employer and a home, and I’m short of a housekeeper I can trust to not murder me in my sleep.”

“I could always bring back the bucket.”

Wilde smiled at that. “Tempting. I’ll leave you to your brooding, but my offer stands, so please consider it,” he said already heading for the door. “Oh and Zolf? The cake was delicious, Ameen and I both agreed.”

Zolf sighed and lay down on his back, staring up at the ceiling for several minutes. Then he cursed. 

Wilde won.

Zolf liked it here. This city that offered enough life to find new things every day, this house that offered a retreat when things got too busy. The company, albeit at times infuriating, was definitely more entertaining than Delphine Bisset had ever been.

\----

He got up earlier than in the last few weeks, before even Wilde was up. It was reassuring to know that Wilde still kept to his old schedule, from back when they had travelled together during the infection. It left Zolf enough time to scramble something up for breakfast with the meagre leftovers he had used for the cake, before brewing coffee and waiting for Wilde to make his way downstairs.

For all that he rose early, Wilde was not a morning person if you caught him before his first coffee. That hadn’t changed, and when Wilde stumbled in, still bleary eyed and eyeing Zolf suspiciously, Zolf simply handed him a mug and gave him a bit of time.

“I take it you made a decision?” Wilde finally said between sips of his coffee.

“Can’t let you get killed in your own home or die from scurvy.”

“I think scurvy is the last of my problems,” Wilde replied and fished a slice of orange from his plate. 

After breakfast Zolf went through the house to get an overview of all the rooms. What needed doing and what needed mending and what needed cleaning. The kitchen he knew well already, and had it sorted to his liking, but if he was to move in permanently it definitely needed proper stocking as well. 

He made a list of all the things he needed, as well as a few things that could be useful to have on hand. Wilde had left him with enough money for all eventual purchases and had written a quick list of his own in English. Next to it was a similar note written in Arabic that Zolf assumed was a translation. Wilde’s preparedness certainly had its advantages.

He felt like a pack mule when he finally made it back to the house, despite the bag of holding. Part of that was down to the two live chickens he had somehow acquired. He had absolutely no clue how that had happened, let alone what he should do with them. The other part was down to the sack of potatoes and a bag of flour that hadn’t fit through the opening of the bag.

Before he could get inside, he found himself accosted by Ameen, who cheerfully waved at him from the porch of his house. Zolf was nearly in the mood to just ignore him, but then trotted over anyway, greeting the old man.

Ameen grinned at him, said a few things that Zolf couldn’t understand, and then went inside to get a heavy looking bag that Zolf assumed contained oranges. 

“I can’t, I - look, I have too much already, they’ll - they’ll spoil, really -” Zolf tried to protest, but Ameen pressed the sack into his hand and with an annoyed huff Zolf gave in.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, and Ameen laughed again, pointed at the bag of oranges, and gave Zolf a thumbs up. Zolf figured it was probably his own fault for encouraging the old man.

By the time Wilde came home, Zolf had managed to make a decent Shepherd’s pie with the ingredients he had found at the market. There was a small dining room available and a bigger one to entertain more guests, but Wilde seemed entirely happy to have dinner in the kitchen.

“I see Ameen accosted you?” He said, taking a sip from his orange juice, one eyebrow raised at the oranges piled up on one of the kitchen counter.

“He is very good at that.”

Wilde smiled. “He is. I’ll let Azu know that she can have someone pick them up.”

“I’ll go over to the hospital tomorrow,” Zolf offered and Wilde hummed in agreement, eating another bite from his dinner, clearly enjoying it. Zolf had taken pride in his cooking during their time in Japan, and he still did. Wilde hadn’t eaten much back then, but had always eaten a bit more when Zolf had been the one cooking, so eventually Zolf had taken over the kitchen on most days.

Companionable silence settled over them, which was interrupted by clucking from outside. Wilde frowned at the sound. “Did the neighbours get new chickens?” 

“Ah, about that.”

“Zolf?”

“They are ours.”

Wilde blinked slowly. “Of course,” he said and turned his attention back to the dinner. “For eggs?”

Zolf grunted an affirmative, not entirely willing to recount the chicken acquiring just yet.

\----

They settled into a routine. Zolf shifted their breakfast to the small alcove in the dining room which oversaw the garden. He kept serving lunch in the kitchen, and Wilde showed up almost daily around 3 in the afternoon. Afterwards he went to his private study to work some more, but not nearly as excessively as Zolf was used to from him in the past. In the evening Wilde did the dishes, despite Zolf’s protests that it was his job, but it seemed to reliably get Wilde to stop working after dinner, so Zolf didn’t make too much of a fuss.

Dinner was usually a couple of sandwiches on a tray Zolf placed on a table in the library while they both sat down to read. Sometimes Wilde would read over more papers from work, sometimes he would sit there scribbling stories of his own into a book. He’d occasionally pause to take a bite from his sandwich or ask Zolf for a synonym, but he usually found the word he wanted earlier than Zolf did. Zolf suspected Wilde only asked to have a soundboard. He often wondered what Wilde was writing, but didn’t pry. Maybe eventually he would get to read it. Although Wilde wasn’t even taking it to the literary salon he regularly went to, run by a young lady named Faiza, even though he seemed to value their input to some degree and enjoyed people’s company there.

During the day, when Wilde wasn’t home and he wasn’t busy either, he tended to meet up with Ameen in the garden or on the front porch for cake and a little chat - or, as it often was, mutual silence with occasional commentary in a language one of them didn't understand. 

The routine was quiet, almost too much so, only occasionally disturbed by delivering oranges to the hospital. 

Zolf found himself restless. He’d started trying to replicate some of the dishes served in the local restaurants and cafés. Wilde’s library held no cookbooks, aside from the ones Zolf had brought with him when he had fully moved in. He had tried to get his hands on some, but couldn’t find any local ones that were written in a language he understood. The cook working for the Tahans had thrown him out of the kitchen when he had asked her. Zolf wasn’t desperate enough yet to try and ask for recipes in the restaurants Wilde sometimes took him to when he was working late from the office and couldn’t leave for lunch - mostly because that would require Wilde to translate for him. 

Zolf had been learning slowly, but he was far away from anything resembling fluid or even passable. It was enough for the hospital and the market, but knowing how to say that he would set someone's cracked bones or take their temperature when none of the other clerics and nurses were around, or how to haggle for fresh vegetables wasn't very conducive to an actual conversation or asking more detailed questions about cooking.

So he tried his hands at some of the things he had eaten, taking the dinner apart on his plate in restaurants, poking at it a bit and hoping to get close enough for it to be edible. For today’s lunch he had planned small rolls of cabbage leaves filled with rice and herbs. The preparation took him all morning and one trip over to Ameen, to see if he could help.

The conversation had been mostly done by gestures and facial expressions and Zolf had left even more confused than before and with a small sachet of spices. He had added the spices to the rice and then let it cook until Wilde came home from work at three, on time like clockwork.

Wilde helped set the table and then prepared a glass of orange juice for each of them while Zolf put their food on the plates. 

“New recipe?” Wilde asked and Zolf grunted an affirmative.

“Tried to replicate one.”

Wilde delicately picked up one of the rolls and ate half of it. Zolf tried to not show how apprehensive he was for the verdict, but it did matter to him that people liked what he cooked, doubly so when he had spent hours in the kitchen preparing it.

If he allowed himself to admit it, it also mattered more because it was Wilde.

Wilde chewed carefully on it, and then his face lit up that tiny bit that made Zolf feel flustered.

“This is really good,” Wilde complimented him. 

“Good,” Zolf said. “Took me long enough to make.”

Wilde gave him an amused look and demonstratively ate another one. 

Zolf fiddled with his own food and contemplated bringing up a thing that had been rattling around his brain since his last visit to the hospital, but that he hadn’t found the time yet to discuss with Wilde.

“Please just say whatever you want to say, before your lunch gets cold,” Wilde said between bites, interrupting Zolf’s thoughts.

“What?”

“You’re only ever picking at your food like that when there is something on your mind,” Wilde pointed out.

“Fine,” Zolf ground out, and ate one of the filled leaves just to make Wilde wait a bit longer. “Azu asked if I could help out at the hospital.”

“For how long?”

Zolf shrugged. “Indefinitely.”

Wilde leaned his head against his hand, elbow resting on the kitchen table, and fluttered his eyelashes at Zolf. “Do I need to be worried?” he asked, overly dramatic, and Zolf had half a mind to throw a kitchen towel at him.

“You wish,” he replied instead.

Wilde’s expression sobered. “If you want to, you should.”

Zolf stabbed at one of the rolls, feeling irritated all of a sudden. “Just thought I’d run it by you, since y’know, I work for you.”

Wilde didn’t look at him, picking out his next filled cabbage leaf to eat as carefully as he picked out his words. “You know that was mostly a ploy to get you to stay.”

Zolf stuttered out a few unintelligible words. “Well you didn’t have to,” he settled on finally.

Wilde looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. 

“Fine, okay, yes. It worked. Happy?”

“Very,” Wilde replied. “But what I was getting at is that you can work anywhere you wish,” his voice softened and he looked away again, “or live.”

Something close to concern gripped Zolf’s heart, and it took him a few seconds to figure out why. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to leave Wilde on his own either. These past few weeks had been the closest he had come to feeling like he belonged somewhere, truly belonged. Somewhere to settle down, where he could see himself growing old. That wasn’t something he just wanted to leave.

“It’s - Azu might just need me for a couple days a week,” he said instead of everything else. “I’m not going anywhere.” _As if I would leave you on your own again,_ Zolf thought and hastily stuffed a filled cabbage leaf into his mouth to stop the words from slipping out.

“Delightful,” Wilde said and picked out another roll. “What would you be doing there?”

“Help out in emergencies, mostly, they’re running a bit short on clerics at times,” Zolf said, feeling like he might be getting back on surer conversational ground. “Probably help out Madame Karima on occasion.”

“Madame Karima?” Wilde said, sounding as amused as the nurse had when Zolf had called her that the first time. He sounded far more himself as well.

“She’s one of the nurses, Wilde, and married.”

“A pity.”

Zolf half-heartedly glared at him.

\----

There were days when his work at Azu's hospital was far more time consuming and draining than usual, days with more accidents and days when the weather went haywire on its own, even with the kraken gone.

Those days Zolf found his way back to their house feeling knackered and grumpy and very much not in the mood for cooking or doing anything, at all.

When it happened the first time, Wilde greeted him at the door. "Azu sent a note," he said while helping Zolf out of the coat he insisted on wearing, even when the weather was unbearably hot. 

Zolf felt tired and still simmering with rage. The accident could’ve been avoided, and even then the girl could’ve kept her leg if anyone had thought to bring it along when dropping her off at the hospital. Zolf had been there first, pouring spells into her fragile body until she was awake and sitting up. Then the rest had trickled in, one injury after the next. They’d had their hands full all day and Zolf was exhausted. At least the little girl was alive.

"There is some dinner for you left," Wilde continued as Zolf kicked his shoes off and exchanged them for soft slippers so as to not damage the floor and to reduce the clanking of his feet. He couldn't wait to take the legs off too and get some proper rest.

He eyed Wilde suspiciously for a moment, because he remembered the one time Wilde had attempted to make dinner back in Japan. It hadn't gone entirely well, prompting Zolf to take over cooking duties permanently.

"I bought it from the small restaurant around the corner of the Hanse consulate. I don't know if you've been there, but they make an excellent fūl." 

Zolf muttered a negative. He’d passed it a few times, but not been there yet, and Wilde hadn’t taken him there yet. 

"Don't worry," Wilde said, wry smile on his lips. "I didn't misuse your kitchen."

"Good," Zolf said, but found himself smiling and relaxing his shoulders a bit. "Though you know it's your kitchen."

Wilde waved him off, "I didn't use it much anyway, it's all yours."

Zolf's heart did an odd thing at those words, a small skip of a beat.

The fūl was indeed very good, and Zolf found a bit of the stress from the day draining away. Wilde kept him company, having already eaten, and nipped on a glass of orange juice.

"How do you know that place," Zolf asked between bites.

"It pretty much kept me alive before -," Wilde waved his hand and Zolf shook his head in fondness.

"That and the oranges?"

Wilde raised his glass to him as if for a toast. "Very much."

"Wilde ..."

"Well, a good thing you moved in then."

"At least you stayed alive."

"You would have missed me if I hadn't." His tone was playful, not quite the same as back the first time they'd met, but something more sincere, more honest. Zolf liked it, liked it better than the fake veneer from London, or the grim determination from Japan that left no room for well intentioned jokes.

"As if," he grumbled, but again found himself smiling around a spoonful of food. "This really is very good."

"I'll let the owner know, and Ameen, that you appreciate it."

Zolf raised an eyebrow at that and Wilde continued. "It's Ameen's cousin's daughter running it, or something of the sort."

Zolf hummed. Ameen surely would appreciate it, from everything he so far had learned about the man.

After the meal he felt far more like a person again and pleasantly tired and bid Wilde goodnight. Zolf found himself at the door when he hesitated and turned halfway back. "Wilde?"

"Hm?"

"You know I would've missed you," he said and then hurried outside, not waiting for a response. He would have, far more so than he had thought possible.

\----

There was a bench in the courtyard of the hospital, on which Zolf liked to sit for his lunch. Today it was occupied. 

The little girl whose life he’d saved a few days ago sat there looking morosely at the ground, her crutches leaning against the side of the bench. She was kicking her remaining leg unhappily in the air.

Zolf sat down at the opposite end of the bench and she purposefully ignored him. He took out the small lunch box he had, revealing some sweets on top that Madame Karima had shared with the nurses and him earlier. Zolf looked at them unhappily, then put them on the lid and slid them into the middle of the bench, so that the girl could reach if she would like one.

He took out a slice of bread with cheese for himself. Wilde had promised to join him for lunch and bring something more substantial with him, but he was running late, and Zolf had long since learned that he got even more grumpy when he hadn’t had something to eat in time and had prepared accordingly. And if need be he could always feed it to the chickens.

The girl still ignored him, but she already eyed the candy from the corner of her eyes. “You can have one if you like,” Zolf said in English, then repeated himself in French.

She asked him something in Arabic, and Zolf pushed the lid closer to her. She eyed him almost suspiciously, asked something again.

“I have no clue what you’re saying, just take one.”

She tilted her head and then reached out and carefully took a piece of candy and popped it into her mouth in a way that reminded him of Sasha. She chewed carefully on it and then beamed at him, gestured at the lid and asked him something again. He just waved his hand and hoped she understood. Their odd form of communication seemed to work.

She picked up two more, but only bit of half of the last one, her gaze flickering back to the stump that was her left leg. Her hand sank down to rest on her lap, eyes sad, but she didn’t cry. Zolf felt selfishly thankful for that, because he wouldn’t have known how to deal with a crying child.

He coughed to draw her attention, then leaned down to pull his trousers out of his boots far enough for the gleaming metal of his left leg to be visible, knocked on it so she could hear the metallic clang of it, and then repeated the same on the other leg. When he looked up again she was looking at him with wide eyes.

“I know it sucks, but trust me, it’s not the end of the world. Not that you understand a word I’m saying,” he grumbled.

Like a bad penny Wilde turned up just then, his voice rising clearly from the other end of the courtyard. “I see you made a new friend.”

“I see you’re late.”

Wilde smiled that infuriating smile of his. “My apologies, I was accosted by Aanesa Faiza. She had some leftover desserts from yesterday, so I took some for us.” In the past few days Zolf had learned that Faiza, the literary salon lady, was also the lady running the restaurant Wilde had gotten them dinner from. She could also talk up a storm in several languages, aside from making excellent food and desserts.

Wilde handed him the box with the food, and Zolf carefully sorted through the contents while Wilde chatted amiably with the little girl. He then picked up one of the pastries from Faiza that Zolf had carefully laid out and handed it to her.

“Wilde, she already had a bunch of sweets.”

“She’s still growing,” Wilde replied, and turned his attention back to the girl. Zolf grit his teeth, but the pastry seemed to delight her, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

Wilde animatedly flung himself into telling a story. Zolf had only on very rare occasions seen him that expressive. The girl’s eyes flickered back to Zolf now and again, eyes wide.

“What are you talking about?” Zolf asked suspiciously, but Wilde just waved him off, chatting rapidly to the girl whose eyes got even bigger and now openly stared at Zolf.

“Just telling her how extraordinary you are and how you managed to save the world from an evil robot without your legs.”

Zolf spluttered. “That’s not - Wilde, that’s not what - you shouldn’t tell her lies.”

Wilde smirked, and Zolf felt his heart skip a beat. “It’s technically not lies, and if you prefer to tell her your version of events you should do so.”

“I can’t speak Arabic.”

Wilde didn’t acknowledge that, and instead kept talking to the girl who eagerly nodded and gave a quickfire reply.

“Luckily for you,” Wilde finally addressed him, “Miss Nazli here just agreed to help you learn it.” 

Zolf pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wilde -” he was of half a mind to murder him in his sleep, and poured that sentiment into his name.

Madame Karima yelled for Nazli from one of the windows, and the girl quickly reached for her crutches and got up. She thanked both of them, and at least that Zolf understood. When Wilde replied she pointedly looked at Zolf and repeated it at him, as if expecting him to repeat it as well.

“Ach,” Zolf grumbled, but she looked at him with wide expectant eyes, ignoring the voice calling for her. “Fine,” he said and then repeated what he thought Wilde had said. She prompted him to say it again by pronouncing it slower, and Zolf did. Nazli beamed at him, apparently happy with his effort, and then hobbled away hurriedly.

“It means ‘you’re welcome’,” Wilde informed him with a far too smug look on his face.

\----

His lessons with Nazli were surprisingly helpful, and in return he could help her by sharing his own experiences with losing a limb and the aftermath of it. At first Madame Karima would keep them company and help interpret, occasionally with Wilde helping out as well during his lunch breaks. 

When Nazli was allowed to go home, her family was more than happy to invite him over. Her mother and aunts nearly smothered him with thanks and food, so much food, in fact, that he ended up serving leftovers for dinner once a week. He suspected their gratitude had increased by the fact that he had asked Cel to help out with the construction of a new leg for Nazli, one which Nazli declared looked really cool and better than her old one.

On his off days he still sat down with Ameen for coffee or tea and cake regularly. His conversations were still stilted and awkward, but he could make a bit of small talk if needed. 

When Ameen had learned that Zolf liked books, he had started to give him some of his own, despite Zolf’s protests that he couldn’t yet read them. He usually ended up passing them along to Wilde, and sometimes asked him to summarize them to him when Ameen had seemed particularly enthusiastic about a book. Zolf had long since given up on dissuading Ameen from anything, including him giving Zolf nicknames like he was a kid.

This day wasn’t much different to their usual meet-ups, and Zolf had made another orange cake, because Ameen seemed to like them. They chatted for a while and then fell into silence, enjoying the tea Zolf had made. Until Ameen handed him a small leather bound book. 

"For you, Zaloof," he said, not looking over at him, but at the orange trees towering over both their gardens. Zolf took it from him, thought it was maybe another book he couldn't yet read. 

"Thanks," he said in Arabic.

When he opened the book the first thing he noticed was that it wasn't printed, but written by hand. The second thing he noticed, after trying to read the inscription and figuring out a set of words and names, was that this was written by Ameen's late wife. When he flipped another page he noticed the way it was written, notes and measurements.

"Ameen..."

Ameen huffed and smiled. "My wife's," he said, then added a few more words that Zolf didn't yet understand.

Zolf wanted to say that he couldn't take it, but all he found was the word "No," and tried to hand it back to Ameen.

"You use it," Ameen said. "Cook something nice with it. For Oscar," he said, and Zolf huffed in indignation. Ameen turned and with a twinkle in his eyes added, "and for me." 

Zolf couldn't argue with that, except that he still couldn't quite read the language yet. But hopefully recipes were easier than works of fiction. At least there were measurements, and he could get help at the market for the ingredients.

\----

Zolf stood in the kitchen, the recipe book Ameen had given him from his wife and a dictionary on the side of the stove, as he tried to follow the recipe. He had slowly learned how to read the language, and was good enough by now that he could navigate the city and the dictionary. Nazli was helping him with the writing as well.

He wanted to make a cake for the day after that he knew Wilde liked, and he’d found a basbousa recipe in the recipe book that seemed to work with the ingredients he had. There was already a tray of palmiers cooling on the counter and another tray with ba'lawa, which he had prepared for Faiza’s literary salon. 

Zolf had accompanied Wilde once, but had found it far too dull for his taste and the people in there far too self-important, aside from Faiza herself and, funnily enough, Wilde. But Wilde seemed to adore it in his own way and they clearly adored him, so Zolf was more than happy to contribute some sweets. Especially after Faiza had told him that she enjoyed his baking a lot. Hearing that from someone who ran a restaurant that served some of the best food in Cairo was quite flattering. 

“What do you think?”

Zolf looked up from the cookbook to squint at Wilde who was leaning against the kitchen door. He was not wearing one of his usual suits or the more leisurely clothes he had started to adopt from the more general population of Cairo, but instead wore something that gave Zolf a headache. 

It was meant to be fashionable, he supposed, and reminiscent of the first outfit Zolf had seen him in. Wilde somehow managed to pull it off, despite the screeching colours and patterns.

“Like you fell into a paint bucket,” Zolf replied.

“You just don’t have a sense for fashion,” Wilde said, and pushed himself off the doorframe to saunter into the room. It was good to see him like this, relaxed, allowing himself to be more carefree, despite everything.

“You didn’t hire me for my fashion taste.”

Wilde sighed theatrically. “That is true. I hired you for your cooking skill,” he said and stole one of the palmiers of the tray, “and that is impeccable.”

Zolf swatted at him with his kitchen towel. “Out with you, those are for the hospital.”

“Wouldn’t want the nurses to be angry at me, especially not Madame Karima.” There was the hint of a mischievous smile on Wilde’s face and Zolf saw him eyeing the ba'lawa. 

“Those are for your book club later. If you want something sweet, eat one of the oranges, we have more than enough of those.”

“It’s not a book club,” Wilde said nearly indignantly. 

“Yeah, yeah, now out of my kitchen until I’m finished.”

“As the cook wishes,” Wilde said and took one of the oranges with him outside.

Wilde came home late that evening. Zolf was still up and waiting for him, despite knowing he didn’t have to. 

“You’re still up,” Wilde astutely observed as he swayed in the corridor outside the library. Even from the distance Zolf could tell that he was well and truly beyond tipsy. He bookmarked the page he was at and got out of his chair.

“How was the book club?”

“Fun,” Wilde said, face lighting up into a bright smile, not even registering Zolf’s little jibe at his beloved literary salon. “The Hanse ambassador brought some very good gin with him.”

“Seems like he did,” Zolf muttered in amusement, but Wilde didn’t seem to register his words.

“Oh, everyone sends their thanks for the ba'lawa, Zolf,” he continued instead. “It was really good.”

“Thank you.” He took Wilde by the arm. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” Zolf gently steered Wilde towards the door.

“If you insist,” Wilde said playfully, and Zolf groaned in exasperation. 

“Not like that.”

Wilde hummed quietly, then changed the topic back to his literary salon. “Aanesa Faiza wants to invite more international authors, I’ve suggested Harrison Campbell,” Wilde said. Zolf froze. 

“That’s, that’s nice?”

“Don’t care much for him, I have to admit, but you like him.”

Zolf’s heart hammered in his chest, and he couldn’t even tell if it was because he might get to meet Harrison Campbell, this time without Bertie ruining everything, or because Wilde just had done this for him.

Fortunately, they reached Wilde’s room, and Zolf could focus on opening the door and shoving Wilde inside and towards his bed, on which Wilde promptly collapsed. 

Zolf was of half a mind to just close the door behind him, but instead helped Wilde to at least get out of his boots. 

“Zolf?” Wilde murmured, already half asleep, and Zolf grunted in acknowledgement as he pulled the second shoe from Wilde’s feet. “I’m really glad you decided to stay.”

\----

Zolf settled into a more comfortable routine, in which the days weren’t ever truly predictable and most nights brought restful sleep. 

Yet the nightmares and the bad spells weren’t entirely gone. Could never be entirely gone. He still dreamt of Feryn and Sasha and all the other people he had lost and that had been lost because of him. Those nights left him knackered and grumpy, but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with in the morning and during the day.

There were moments his legs acted up, where he could feel the earth crushing one of them and the water taking the other, when they _ached_ despite not being there. He could deal with those moments too, and had done so for a long time.

It was only truly bad when they coincided. When he woke up from nightmares of suffocating and watching Feryn go into the mine and Sasha falling into the sea, only to find his legs aching as well as his heart and head.

That he still couldn’t handle, especially now when there was no urgency to suppress all of it - to grit his teeth and just move on. The pain of it contrasted even more against all the good things that he now called his own. 

Zolf massaged the stumps of his legs, hoping to alleviate the feeling of fine needle pins running down his legs and over his toes, focused on the missing parts, reminding his brain that they weren’t there to hurt anymore. His brain wasn’t easily convinced, however, and he knew that spells wouldn’t help either. When it became clear there would be no rest for him, he attached his prostheses and got up. Sometimes it helped walking around.

The house was quiet, save for his own footsteps, and outside it was as quiet as a growing and sprawling city could get. He walked along the protection wards of the house, checked if the physical ones were in place as well, and straightened out the table cloth in the breakfast nook. He picked a book at random from the bookshelf and sat down, but found that he still couldn’t focus, that the pain grew worse again when he rested in the comfortable chair. Finally, he gave up on trying to retain anything from the page he was reading and went into his kitchen.

It was too late to do any cooking and risk waking Wilde up, so he resigned himself to going over what was in stock instead, and to wiping down the counters.

By the time he was finished going over everything, the pain in his legs had receded to a level that was manageable, and he could sit down for a glass of water, slowly drinking it in small sips.

A bang outside made him flinch and it took him entirely too long to register it as a car backfiring. His heartbeat slowed down after a few minutes, but in his head he replayed the explosion of the mine again, heard it like a far away echo that he could not escape, no matter how far away he got. He stared out the kitchen window until the sun crept in, glass of water forgotten.

“Zolf?” Wilde asked sleepily as he came into the kitchen. 

He shook himself out of his thoughts. “Breakfast, right.” But when he tried to stand up, Wilde put a hand on his shoulder to keep him seated. His eyes were far too alert for that time of the morning without coffee.

“Bad night?” he asked and Zolf brushed his hand away. 

“If you want breakfast you should let me get up,” he grumbled and made another attempt, but Wilde kept him pinned this time with a word and a look alone.

“Sit, I can handle breakfast.”

“Fine,” he grit out. “Just don’t burn down the kitchen.”

“I did not survive on orange juice and restaurant food alone, Zolf, I can fry an egg and make some toast.”

It turned out that he actually could. 

He didn’t pry about Zolf’s bad night and Zolf knew he had had plenty of his own, even without someone cursing him. 

“Do you have work today?” Wilde asked as he handed Zolf a glass of orange juice. Zolf wanted to reply that his work literally was to make breakfast, but knew that Wilde meant the hospital.

“Not today.” Which was a small blessing as he didn’t want to let down Azu. 

“Then rest for the day.”

“Wilde.”

“Eat up,” Wilde said gently, but the order in his words was unmistakable. “Then get some rest. I’ll get us something from Aanesa Faiza for lunch.”

Zolf sighed in frustration. 

“Zolf, it’s okay,” Wilde reassured him, voice soft in a way that Zolf hated in that very moment. He knew he would appreciate it far more later when he was rested.

\----

Zolf usually brought the oranges with him to the hospital, but Wilde was on a business trip and about to return sometime during the day. While that usually meant very late in the evening, Zolf at least wanted to have something prepared for him when he got home. So he had rearranged his usual shifts in the hospital and wouldn’t be going in until the next week. 

Hamid had agreed to pick up the oranges for Azu, and so Zolf waited for him to show up while he cleaned the kitchen and pondered what to make for Wilde. By the time he had finished, Hamid still hadn’t shown up and the clock was creeping towards early afternoon.

Usually that meant Ameen would be outside in front of his house, drinking tea and engaging whoever was passing by into conversation. With little else to do, it seemed like a good way to pass the time until Hamid arrived.

As Zolf had predicted Ameen was indeed outside, drinking his tea and having a conversation with someone on the street. As Zolf hadn’t predicted that someone was Hamid. 

“Hamid!” he yelled over and Hamid turned around, looking flustered for all Zolf could tell. He quickly said goodbye to Ameen, who waved over to Zolf, and came running over.

“Sorry for being late, I got a bit caught up,” Hamid said.

“Ameen does that.” Zolf ushered Hamid inside, towards the kitchen where he had kept the oranges for the hospital in a bag.

“He seems very nice,” Hamid commented and Zolf noticed him looking around the house with interest while chatting. If he was interested in an actual tour he would have to ask, because Zolf wasn’t in the mood to just give one. 

He still had to come up with something for dinner, and he wanted to finish the latest book he had gotten from Madame Karima before Wilde returned. The book wasn’t as thrilling as his favourite Harrison Campbell novel, but it was still very good, and Zolf wanted to find out if Michéle was going to get her revenge on the corsair that had kidnapped her brother years ago and turned him into a pirate, or if she was going to forsake her quest for vengeance to marry Jacques, the love of her life and childhood friend.

“So what did you talk about?” Zolf asked absentmindedly as he handed the bag to Hamid. 

Hamid’s face took on a bit more colour. “Oh just this and that,” he said, making his way back to the entrance door. Zolf frowned at him. Hamid usually wasn’t that much in a hurry.

He stopped him by the door, Hamid fiddling with the door handle. “What was it?”

Hamid fidgeted for a moment in the open doorway, before the words rushed out of him, “You know Ameen thinks you’re married to Wilde?” Zolf gaped at him for a moment. “You’re not, right?

“What - why - how … Why would he think that?” Then his brain caught up to the second question. “Why would you think that!”

“I don’t! I just - never mind!” Hamid’s voice had gone high and panicked, and it set Zolf off too.

“Never mind? You just -”

“I know - I didn’t mean to. I just thought - maybe - considering how much time you spend together and -”

“Hamid, I work for the man, we’re living in the same house.” He found his own voice rising higher.

“I know! It’s just - never mind, lets just, lets - I’ll take the oranges to the hospital. See you maybe tomorrow? We’d still love it if you and Oscar came by for dinner.”

“I -” Zolf started, still staring dumbfounded at Hamid. Whatever had given him that idea? But by the time he had regained something vaguely resembling a composure, Hamid had already flung the bag over his shoulders and was halfway down the street.

Zolf blinked, then shook his head and turned to go back inside. He had dinner to prepare anyway and by the sound of Wilde’s last notes he would be exhausted upon return. 

A soup with some fresh bread was probably the best call, easy to warm up in case Wilde came back later than expected and easy to digest. Besides, he had several vegetables that needed to go.

\----

Wilde came home very late, looking like he was going to keel over any second. Zolf didn’t doubt that if anyone else aside from him had been around, Wilde would have still kept up the pretense of being completely functional. But the second he was through the door, his shoulders drooped and he fumbled with his jacket.

Zolf helped him out of it and then ushered him into the kitchen because he didn’t trust their library chairs to not send Wilde directly to sleep without any dinner. 

The soup was still warm even if the bread he had made was not, and Wilde tucked into it like he was halfway to starving. Zolf made a note to have words with whoever Wilde was going on a business trip with next, if he came home without having had proper catering and some rest in between. At least one of those wasn’t down to Wilde’s bad habits of overworking himself.

“Stressful trip?” Zolf asked in between bites, not so much out of interest as to keep Wilde awake, who by now had nearly dropped his spoon twice.

“Dreadful,” he answered. “Remind me to _not_ kill Curie the next time I see her.” 

Zolf snorted. “Noted.”

“How have you been?” Wilde inquired, but it seemed more an automatic question than real interest as well.

“Fine. Hamid picked up the oranges today, he seems to get along with Ameen.”

Wilde hummed. “Good. How’s Ameen.”

“Same as always.”

Their conversation lapsed into silence, Zolf mulling something over in his head that had been eating away at him all day. “He thinks we’re married,” Zolf said between spoonfuls of soup.

When Wilde didn’t say anything for a while, Zolf looked up and found him staring into space again.

“Wilde?” he snapped him out of it.

Wilde blinked, looked down on his food and quietly said, “Would you like to be?”

Zolf froze, clearly not having heard correctly, then opened and closed his mouth without a proper word coming out, just a few unintelligible sounds.

Wilde froze, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I said that out loud, didn’t I.”

“You did,” Zolf said, managing words even if they were faint in his own ears.

“Forgive me. Please, just - just forget I said anything.”

“Yes,” Zolf found himself saying and Wilde let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, I really don’t wish to make our relationship uncomfortable in any way.”

“I - yes - no. I meant - yes, I would,” Zolf finally managed to get out, and Wilde looked up at him, shocked and intense. 

Zolf found a quiet surety settle over him that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. Not when he had sworn an oath to Poseidon, not when he had clung to flimsy hope during the infection, not when he had made his exit from the London Rangers in Prague. The last time he had felt it was on a hill back home, staring into the distance as far as he could, realizing that there was little he wanted less than to be a miner and nothing he wanted more than to see the world.

“I would want to be married to you,” he repeated himself clearly.

“Oh,” Wilde said faintly. “Good.”

Zolf breathed out and didn’t know where to go from here. It was late and Wilde still looked like he might keel over any minute. “Eat up,” he said instead of anything more insightful to the situation. “You need to get some rest.”

Wilde stared back down on his plate, mutely nodded. “Right.”

They would have more time discussing things in the morning. And perhaps they would have their entire lives for it too - together.

\----

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Rusty Quill Big Bang by Piles of Nonsense. Many thanks to my beta readers Bitter and Craux, to Jasmine who helped with a lot of details surrounding Egyptian culture, and my wonderful artist [Panda](https://areyouokaypanda.tumblr.com/post/628313025829584896/the-last-of-my-pieces-for-the-rqbb2020-hosted-by)!


End file.
